Antidote
by KShir
Summary: Booth opens the door one night to find Angela on his doorstep in a mess of hormones and tears. This is a look at what a Booth/Angela relationship might look like set in Season 6. Constructive criticism and reviews highly encouraged. Most likely to only be a one-shot unless author experiences divine intervention. Rated T for anatomical description.


_Author's Note:_ I was re-watching season 6 of Bones, and I enjoyed a moment of on-screen chemistry between Angela and Booth. It wasn't anything sexual or anything with a hidden meaning, but it did get me thinking about a relationship between the two of them. I sat there, trying to think of a plot for some fan fiction, but nothing came up. Then it occurred to me: I couldn't think of a plot because they have no ties to each other apart from Brennan. So then my brain went into overdrive trying to forge a fictional tie between the two of them. This is all I could come up with while still remaining someone true to the original story line (which I like to do most of the time). Anywho, on to what you came here for.

**Antidote**

It was blinding, that light. It seemed to push out around every hem of the heavy curtains that hung over Booth's windows; it demanded that he rise and greet the day. A bright chink of sunlight had slid slowly up the wired legs of Seeley Booth's body, crossed over the muscled planes of his back, and was now dancing over the side of his face. His brows crinkled as he tried in vain to shield his eyes from that damn light.

When he shifted in the bed in an attempt to turn his face away from the window, he heard her sigh softly in her sleep and he stilled for a moment, moving only to turn his head to face her.

She was peaceful and beautiful. Her dark curls fanned around her head like a dark halo and her lashes brushed her high cheek bones. Her skin was the color of over-creamed coffee, and her lips shone, pink and slightly puffy. He grinned softly and reached calloused fingers out to touch those swollen lips – a souvenir of the heated kisses from the previous night.

At his touch, her soft pink mouth twitched slightly and she seemed to smile gently in her sleep. She tucked her chin to the swell of her breasts and nestled further into his warmth, the blanket falling away from her torso as she moved.

Greater than the smooth, engorged mounds that were her breasts, topped with lightly puckered rose buds, was the large, soft mountain of her stomach. Her breasts rose and fell calmly with her deep, slumbering breaths, but her belly did not move. It seemed that like her life, like her thoughts and speech, her body existed to only surround the child within. His own smile widened and he splayed his fingers across her abdomen.

For many months, this baby had been the cause of a crease on her forehead, and the shuffle in his own step. It reminded them of a night, stolen away in Paris, their breath rising around them like clouds. It had not been their intention, he had only been passing through to the embassy and then back to the sand trap that was Afghanistan. But Hodgins had been tired… and there had been wine. So much wine. And then the taste of wine on her tongue – bitter, sweet, and completely Angela.

They came home. They saved Cam. He had to return to his apartment after her frantic phone call – pretend to be pleasantly surprised that she was not drinking wine. Act excited in front of Hannah and Bones. Then there was the announcement. He had avoided it, planned to meet Hannah on her return from traveling with the president. He could not be there, as she held hands with her husband and told their friends that they had conceived.

She had found him afterwards. Did he know that the baby might be his? Of course he knew. What should she tell Hodgins? What should she do? There had been an argument, raised voices outside as rain sheeted down from the night sky. How should he know? They did not talk for several days.

Then, it seemed, she was at peace. Her life stopped being about all of the things occurring around her, and became defined by what was within. Their conversations trickled back into being, their words danced around the baby blossoming within her. There were no stolen glances in the hallways. There was no electricity in their brief touches. Angela loved Jack. He loved Hannah… didn't he?

It did not help that amidst the questions that surrounded Angela's happy accident there were questions in his own life. Hannah and Bones. Hannah and her job. Hannah and safety. Hannah and Parker. Hannah and Bones. Bones? Ah yes, Temperance Brennan, the anchor and bane of his existence. They seemed like parallel lines – destined to forever travel in the same direction but never touch. He had wrapped himself up in the safety that was Hannah; not Bones and not the baby.

But as Booth shifted into gear, preparing to move his life forward, Angela wanted to take a step back. It was time to talk. She had been very calm, as these things go. Like the Angela he had flirted with when she was first hired at the Jeffersonian, like the Angela who had sweetly murmured his name in France, she knew what she wanted and she was not compromising.

"This is Hodgins' baby." There was no question. There was no room for negotiation, not that he would have protested. How or if she knew the actual genetics of her child, he did not know. It did not matter. Her child was Hodgins' child. Booth mourned the loss in a confused state for a brief period. Then he convinced himself that she had knowledge that he did not – the child must actually be Jack's.

Angela and Booth were close once more. He was asked all manner of questions, from crib construction to car choice. When Father's Day rolled around, he was consulted; the baby was not here yet, should she get her husband a gift? The news of the child's possible blindness broke and Angela spent an afternoon in Booth's apartment. Did he think she had what it took to raise a blind baby?

Then came last night. It had been raining again, great torrents of water bursting forth from what had seemed to be a cheerfully sunny day. She had nearly beat down his door and he had thrown it open in a panic. There she was, eyes shining, hair plastered to her neck and face and shoulders; she had fallen across the threshold.

There had been a fight. Well, she called it a fight. It had been another day at the lab, complete with a pile of decomposing flesh and bone on the icy metal slab. Of course they had called her in for a facial reconstruction – that was her job. But at the end of the day, when she had needed to talk about the 16 year old girl with evidence of abuse that she had drawn, Jack made light of the scenario. Jokes, quips, and pleasant talk. Did he not understand her needs? There had been a stony silence and Hodgins, unable to interpret Angela, had returned to the lab to continue his work.

Suddenly, Angela was crying into Booth's chest, hands over her face. She knew this was stupid, but on the other hand, how could she have a baby with someone who did not appreciate the sacred power of human life? He had been bewildered, but hugged her consolingly to him and rubbed his large hands up and down her back.

It was hard to say what exactly had happened. Perhaps it was the feel of the curve of her spine underneath his hands. It may have been his warmth that perked her nipples through her t-shirt. In any case, when she turned to leave and pecked Booth on the cheek, it did not stop there. She kissed him again at the corner of his mouth – and all was lost. Their lips were moving together and the door was swinging shut on an empty apartment foyer.

She had been needy, mewling and pliable in his hands last night. He had needed it, too, but in a much different way. There was something so basic, so unthinking about having this woman writhing in his arms that it drove all thoughts of Hannah, Brennan, and the baby away. There was only then, that moment. The guilt would come, the regret would follow – but what did that matter? Tomorrow's Booth could handle it.

Tomorrow's Booth had become today's Booth, but he was succeeding at keeping his mental storm at bay. Right now, all that mattered was the shining energy that the blinding bright sunlight and Angela's sleeping form created. He felt the smile broaden on his face: this moment was as simple as life could get. His joints felt pleasantly loose and there was no knot of tension in his chest. There was the joy that only a baby could bring, without all of the complications of parenthood. And, perhaps best, he had woken up next to a beautiful woman that had fallen into his arms and into his bed without him bending over backwards to fall in love with her. In fact, there were no trappings of love here. For twelve hours' time, he had escaped Hannah… and Temperance.

"Mm," Angela mumbled softly, her eyes fluttering open. "What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing," Booth replied quickly. "I just have a feeling like it's going to be a good day."

"I see." Her brow creased, and just as quickly as he had discovered himself within it, Booth's shining bubble of certainty popped around him. "Oh, Booth," she said, sitting up with a groan. She used a hand to brush away a stray lock of hair and looked around where her t-shirt and maternity jeans were shed wantonly about the room.

"How do we keep getting ourselves into this mess?" She sighed, dropping her hand from her hair and hanging her head. "We can't do this anymore."

"Alright."

"No, I mean it," Angela said earnestly. She turned to Booth with wide, sincere eyes.

"I get it," he replied. "I was going to say the same thing."

"Really?"

No, not really. He had been prepared to tell her that this was not her fault… that he was sure pregnancy hormones were to blame. And on his end? Well, he guessed he could blame the scotch he had drunk before her arrival. (She need not know that one drink would not have lowered his inhibitions so greatly.)

"Yeah. Why don't you shower and I'll make breakfast?"

"I-" She paused, looking at him suspiciously. This is what made her come back. Seeley Booth, apart from being handsome and intelligent, was a surprisingly simple man. He always took her at her word, and even when it seemed least likely, chose the path of least resistance – at least when it came to relationships. She imagined that it took a significant amount of hurt to lead a man to that road. She had a feeling she knew who had made him into this.

"Okay," she agreed. She would clean herself up, and perhaps wash away this feeling of incredible guilt. Today was a new day. Today was her and Hodgins' day. She would apologize for the misunderstanding the night before. She would explain that she just needed some time on her own. She was a free spirit – he never asked too many questions. It would all be okay. She would stop this nonsense with Booth and she would return home, ready to be a wife and a mother. Ready to be tied down. Hodgins wouldn't ask, would he?

No. He didn't asked questions in Paris – he would not ask them now.


End file.
